


Dog Days

by stardustandswimmingpools



Series: the almost-daughter [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coda, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Reading, Slice of Life, Stuffed Toys, idk it's just cute, no plot almost, thank you for pushing me to write this it turned out cute, this is a coda right? a reaaaaaally long coda? idk, this is for deutchremy and deutchremy only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23653411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Day 50:“It’s a dog.”“Dog?”“Yeah, an animal.” Hopper tries to conjure up a reason why Eleven would have any concept of dogs, and draws a blank. “They’re, uh, cuddly and stuff. People keep ‘em as pets.”“Pets,” Eleven echoes, looking as confused as when Hopper had handed her the plush toy.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper
Series: the almost-daughter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702957
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeutchRemy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeutchRemy/gifts).



> big fuckin shoutout to DeutchRemy for making me write this. it's cute and im happy with it. i know in terms of 'verse this story is hella late but just pretend we're still existing in that beautiful bubble of time between seasons 1 and 2 where life is beautiful and El is living with Hopper because that is the IDEAL TIMELINE

**Day 50:**

“It’s a dog.”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, an animal.” Hopper tries to conjure up a reason why Eleven would have any concept of dogs, and draws a blank. “They’re, uh, cuddly and stuff. People keep ‘em as pets.”

“Pets,” Eleven echoes, looking as confused as when Hopper had handed her the plush toy.

Hopper puts the heel of his palm to his forehead, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath. “Look, don’t worry about what it is, okay? It’s just a toy and — and it’ll keep you company when you sleep. You can hug it.”

Eleven brightens. “I like hugs.”

Hopper isn’t really a hugger, but Eleven isn’t really  _ anything _ , so when he explains hugs he tries not to include his distaste for them. It’s possible Eleven can read tell from his tone, but maybe not; she’s not exactly the queen of telegraphed social cues. Still, he’s a little begrudging about them, and maybe having a stuffed dog to hug will make Eleven happy. It looks like it already is; the dog is wrapped up in her arms, and she’s nuzzling her cheek against it, smiling peacefully.

“Yeah,” Hopper says. He smiles despite himself, because she looks so...so  _ cheerful _ , is the word. 

Hopper can’t really take responsibility for the happiness of that many people, but just this once, he mentally pats himself on the back.

* * *

**Day 51:**

“Good morning,” Eleven yawns, padding into the living room. Hopper is finishing his coffee, which means Eleven has slept in a little. Normally she’s awake by the time the coffee is done brewing, and she even managed to sneak a sip once. 

Once. (And never again.)

“Morning, sleepy head,” Hopper says. “Sleep well?”

Eleven nods, her head bobbing up and down a couple times like she isn’t quite awake enough yet to stop it. “Dog kept me company.”

For one fleeting moment, Hopper has the alarmed response of  _ when did we get a dog?? _ A glance towards Eleven reveals that she’s referring to the stuffed animal. It’s tucked in the crook of her arm, and she’s cradling it with more delicateness than Hopper’s ever treated anything.

“I’m glad,” Hopper says, and he is. “You can name it if you want, you know.”

Eleven frowns.

“The dog,” Hopper says, putting his coffee mug in the sink and rinsing it out.

“Its name is not…Dog?” This concept seems beyond baffling to Eleven.

Hopper sighs, one that comes from his soul and possibly starts hurricanes elsewhere in Indiana. “It can be, kid.”

Eleven smiles, self-satisfied. 

Hopper pulls the Eggos from the microwave seconds before it beeps, then tears one in half and offers Eleven one side. She takes an eager bite, then squeezes Dog closer and holds the Eggo up to his mouth, as if offering him a bite.

Hopper can’t decide if that’s sweet or tragic, so he just shoves his own waffle in his mouth and lifts a hand in farewell to Eleven as he heads to work.

* * *

They’re almost finished with  _ From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler _ , and Hopper hates to admit it but he’s kind of invested in the story. Fortunately, Eleven is too, and every so often she’ll manage to read a word aloud with him, which reminds Hopper the reason they’re even doing this — to teach Eleven to read. 

Eleven is usually eagerly sitting on the couch before Hopper’s even finished having dinner, gazing at him expectantly and waiting to begin the next chapter. So when instead she retreats to her room after dinner, Hopper is understandably bewildered.

“Guess there’s no chapter tonight,” he says loudly.

Eleven doesn’t respond, but the TV flickers on and off, which is her silent way of being disagreeable.

Hopper tosses the beer can he’d drained at dinner and sits down on the couch. “Kid,” he calls out. “Are we reading or not? Come on.”

Eleven emerges from her room, where apparently she’d been putting pajamas on, and — oh, excellent.

“Dog wants to read,” Eleven declares, staring almost defiantly at Hopper as if threatening the sarcasm that’s rising to his tongue.

“Fine,” Hopper says. He does not care at all, and says so. “Dog can do whatever he wants. Come on over here, we’re almost done with the book.”

Eleven seems satisfied by this conclusion and joins him on the couch. She curls up under his arm and Hopper opens the book to the final chapter.

“Chapter ten,” he begins, and ignores when Eleven perches Dog on her head as if to give him a vantage point. If she’s that excited about a stuffed dog, more power to her.

* * *

**Day 52:**

Dog is watching TV. More specifically, Dog is watching a cooking show, and he seems pretty neutral about it.

In any case, this is the tableau that greets Hopper when he gets home from work. He knows Eleven is home and conscious, because she’d unlocked the door for him, but she’s not on the couch with Dog. Which means Dog is just sitting on the couch, by himself, ostensibly enjoying the preparation of sautéed vegetables.

“Kid?” 

“Hi,” comes the kid’s voice from her room. The door is open a crack. Presently, it opens more until Hopper can see Eleven through the doorway. She’s laying on her bed, coloring a piece of paper.

Hopper really, really doesn’t want to ask, because he’s sure the answer is just going to make him want a beer. But this is his house, damn it, and he needs to know what’s going on.

“Is Dog watching TV?”

Eleven glances up at Hopper and nods. “He likes TV.”

Hopper gets a beer.

The thing is, it doesn’t really matter that much to Hopper. If this were any other kid, he could accept it as one of their quirks and move on. Some children are really attached to their stuffed animals, and it’s their prerogative. Hopper doesn’t  _ care. _

It’s just — okay, he cares a  _ little _ in this one specific situation. Because if Eleven’s going to get attached to a stuffed dog, that could mean trouble. What if she tears it by accident? What if she loses it? What if she starts thinking it’s an actual sentient being? She doesn’t know any better. She’s never met a  _ real dog,  _ for Christ’s sake.

Hopper should maybe start doing some preemptive damage control, is all. Before it’s too late.

“Hey, kid,” he says. “You, uh, you know Dog can’t actually see, right? Or, uh, process information?”

Eleven looks up at Hopper again, and the sheer unimpressed look on her face almost blows him out of the water.

“Okay,” she says.

Hopper sighs in relief. “Okay. Great. As long as we’re on the same page. Come on, let’s have dinner.”

It occurs to him after she’s gone to bed that maybe her  _ okay _ was more of an indulgence for him than an acceptance for her.

* * *

**Day 53:**

Hopper is hesitant to read _A Wrinkle In Time_ once he gets a glimpse at the crazy names of all the old ladies — _Mrs. Whatsit? Mrs. Who?_ _Really?_ — but Eleven is stubborn, and it’s better than Roald Dahl, at least. 

Somehow Dog has ended up tucked underneath Eleven’s arm, her chin resting on its head, her cheek on Hopper’s chest. Eleven follows dutifully along when Hopper reads, but he also catches her scratching her fingers on Dog’s neck.

“... _ ‘How could she have known?’ _ ” Hopper finishes. He closes the book. Eleven regularly pleads for another chapter, but tonight she doesn’t. Hopper figures one chapter of this book at a time is enough for the kid to process. “Okay. Bedtime, kiddo.”

“Did you like it?” Eleven says quietly. Hopper nearly replies —  _ we’re not reading it for me to like it  _ — when he realizes she’s not talking to him. Dog is floating before her face, and as she treads back to her room she carries on in soft tones.

Hopper has a  _ moment. _

He doesn’t often have moments like these, for a number of reasons, mainly that he’s pretty sure Eleven doesn’t have any superpowers he doesn’t know about, and he likes to think they’ve developed a pretty open rapport. It’s just sometimes she does things, and Hopper will have a moment, and he watches her, now, talking under her breath to a stuffed animal, and for a second he just thinks:  _ can she actually communicate with stuffed animals? _

That’s such a terrifying rabbit hole that Hopper immediately cuts it off at the pass. He shakes his head firmly. “Eleven,” he says, prepared to tell her off for chattering to a stuffed dog who can’t hear or answer her — he doesn’t want to propagate this idea of an inanimate object being a better confidante than a living person — and she turns back to him. Her eyes are wide, innocent, and Dog is resting comfortably on her shoulder, face turned slightly towards Eleven’s as if they  _ are _ in conversation, and —

Goddamn it.

“I’ll come say goodnight in a second,” he says instead.

She smiles in that special way she has where her whole face lights up. “Okay,” she says lightly, and then resumes talking to Dog.

Hopper puts his face in his hands and exhales.

* * *

**Day 57:**

Okay. Hopper is a little worried.

He’s trying to be rational, but Eleven is home for like twelve hours, unsupervised. Previously she’d had only the television to keep her company. Now, Hopper will come home and Eleven will carry on longer conversations with Dog than he’s heard her have with anyone, ever.

He supposes it’s easy for her to talk to someone that can’t criticize her when she doesn’t know a word, or try to tell her how to speak, or even object to anything she says. It’s like talking to a wall, but the wall has a face that is specifically curated to be cute and lovable. It’s not like he  _ blames _ her. It’s just, well.

There’s no more obvious way to be lonely than to befriend a stuffed animal, is all.

_ A Wrinkle In Time  _ is getting very confusing. Even Hopper is having more than a little trouble following it, and he can tell Eleven isn’t so much listening as she is watching his finger move across the lines on the page. The good news is that he’s pretty sure she’s learning to read, or at least getting a better sense of it. The bad news is that neither of them have any clue what’s going on in this book.

There are worse things, Hopper muses. If Eleven starts having Dog traipse up and down his arm, then he’ll know for sure he’s lost her. (Sara used to do that, back when — before —)

(Anyway.)

“I like Meg,” Eleven announces after they finish chapter 5. “Dog likes Meg.”

“Oh, does he?” Hopper is  _ trying _ not to sound sarcastic, but if Eleven picks up on his tone, she makes no indication.

“Dog likes when you read,” Eleven says softly. Hopper chuckles.

“What about Eleven?” he teases. “Does she like it?”

Eleven pokes him in the shoulder. “Fishy compliments.”

“ _ Fishing _ for compliments,” Hopper corrects. She’s caught him. “Fine. I don’t care about your opinion anyway. I only want to know what Dog thinks.”

“Hey,” Eleven pouts. “Dog agrees with me.”

“How convenient,” Hopper says. “Almost like he’s an inanimate object.”

Eleven’s face makes it obvious that this term is not in her vocabulary.

“Inanimate means not living,” Hopper explains. “The couch, the table, the rug. Anything that ain’t got a heartbeat.”

“Dog is not inanimate,” Eleven says. 

Oh boy. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but he actually is. No heartbeat, see?”

“But he listens to me.”

Hopper blinks. “Well, yeah. He doesn’t really have a choice, kiddo.”

“ _ You’re _ not inaminate,” Eleven points out, butchering the word, “and  _ you _ listen to me. Dog listens to me. Dog is not inaminate.”

“In-an-i-mate,” Hopper says slowly. “Repeat after me. In-a-ni-mate.”

Eleven crosses her arms over her chest. “Dog is my friend. He keeps me company when I sleep.”

“Would you rather  _ I _ keep you company when you sleep?” Hopper counters. He pauses, takes a deep breath. There is absolutely no excuse for yelling at Eleven, and Hopper has always had a temper. Sometimes he just needs a second.

Eleven casts her eyes downward. She doesn’t answer.

_ Oh. _ Hm.

“Shit, kid,” Hopper says; he tries to keep the affection out of his voice, but it bleeds through. “Come on. Come here.”

He puts an arm around her shoulders, and she must not be that upset because she allows him to maneuver her into his side. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. Eleven is the only person to whom apologizing is not difficult at all. “I wasn’t trying to — if Dog is important to you, then that’s the only thing that matters. Hell, I don’t care if he’s alive or not. He makes you happy, and that’s the important thing.”

Eleven is quiet for a second, playing with Dog’s ears. Finally she says, “Dog likes you.”

Hopper reaches out and scratches Dog’s head. “I like him too.”

“But me more, right?” 

She’s so earnest, and her brown eyes could melt down metal. Hopper’s heart does leaps and bounds. He settles for scratching the top of her head, as well.

“Mhm,” he hums. It’s the closest he’ll get to saying — well — it’s all she’s going to get, is the point.

But Eleven seems content. She smiles up at him, then looks back at Dog and says, “Told you so. He likes me more.”

Hopper laughs.

Some things just don’t matter. And some things are worth sacrificing a little sanity.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! hope you all liked it! leave a comment if you did :) it will make my day. i'm on tumblr @vivilevone and you can come talk to me there about whatever!! love you allll stay safe stay healthy and stay the fuck home bye


End file.
